Housekeeping Moved My Stuff (So Mean)
by How Clever of You
Summary: While staying at a nice hotel the night before the Beacon Hills lacrosse team plays in a championship game, Isaac and Stiles end up sharing a room. And a bed. And probably some spit. [Inspired by Julian Smith's Nice Hotel.] Isaac/Stiles.


check me out on a03 under the same name for quicker updates & more stories! as always, this is for my butt mal.

inspired by the song Nice Hotel by Julian Smith.

* * *

"Lahey, Stilinski," Coach Finstock said, shooting Stiles warning eyes before tossing Isaac the keycard.

"Coach," Stiles started, gesturing to Scott next to him.

"No," he said, pointing a finger at the two of them, the other keycards fanned out in his hand. "We are not having a repeat of last time. You and McCall are not to be in the same room. I will _check_. And I'm sure Lahey over there will kick your asses if you try anything."

Isaac was over in the corner nodding like kicking Stiles' ass would be more of a pleasure than a favor.

"I thought we didn't talk about the pudding thing," Stiles protested lamely.

Coach raised an eyebrow at him and put his whistle between his lips. "You wanna start this, Stilinski?" he asked.

"No, sir, I just," he said, because apparently he didn't know when to stop.

Coach Finstock blew his whistle and everyone in the lobby turned to glare at him almost in unison. The receptionist – a tall man in a fine-pressed suit – looked disapprovingly over his glasses.

"Coach, you'd better," he said, because he didn't want to get kicked out of the hotel, but all he got in response was another shrill whistle. Stiles hoped to God that this wasn't a repeat of Motel Suicide USA or else he was probably going to die tonight.

He looked over at Isaac, who was inspecting his fingernails with a bored sort of detachment.

Yep, he was definitely going to die tonight, wolfs bane or not.

The receptionist came out from behind his desk and approached the group in a series of long, quick strides. "Sir," he began in what was possibly the most posh voice Stiles had ever heard, "I'm going to ask you to please quiet down or else we'll also have to ask you to leave."

Coach Finstock looked like he was weighing his options, trying to decide whether or not it was worth the fight. Finally, he let the whistle fall out from between his lips and the receptionist nodded and walked away.

"Anyone else got any arguments?" Coach challenged. Before anyone could say anything, he continued. "Good. If you do, take it up with the park bench outside."

He tossed another keycard to Scott to share with Danny, who looked vaguely disappointed that he wouldn't be sharing with Ethan. Stiles wondered if he would accept a bribe of sorts. Before he could concoct any sort of plan, Scott punched his shoulder lightly.

"Sorry, dude," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast?"

Stiles scoffed at his retreating back and turned to stare at Isaac. Behind him, Greenberg was being given the short end of the stick by pairing up with Rusty, whose sleep gas they had all unfortunately had to witness first hand. That had been an interesting if not hellish camping trip.

Isaac gave Stiles a little shrug and turned away, leading with his shoulder, and sauntered on down the hall towards the elevators. Stiles looked around the cavernous lobby and wondered – first, how Beacon Hills could afford to book them a hotel that had not one chandelier, not _two_ chandeliers, but _seven chandeliers _in the entrance hall alone; really, going to the championships was a big honor, but was it _that _big of an honor? – whether or not the couches would be comfortable enough to sleep on because if he made a list of things he didn't want to do, sharing a room with Isaac Lahey – potentially blood thirsty, previously abused, puppy dog eyed roommate of his best friend – was near the top. Underneath committing genocide but above gnawing off his own hand.

The tall receptionist was glaring at him from behind his shiny desk and Stiles decided that the lobby was probably not the best place to sleep.

He trudged down the hallway and to the elevator lobby, which was completely deserted save for Isaac, who was sitting splayed out on one of the plush benches. His knees were splayed out to the side as if he was taunting Stiles about how long and lean and not weird and bony his legs were. He had the keycard pressed against the space between two of his teeth and was scraping his right bottom canine against the plastic.

"What?" Stiles said as he walked up. "You waiting for me?"

"You don't know the room number," Isaac said, dropping his arm and standing up. He waved the keycard at Stiles and held it higher into the air when he lunged for it. "You need this too, don't you?"

"You, sir, are a great big back of dicks." He stood grumpily next to Isaac as they waited for the elevator door to open. "You know that, right?"

"It's been mentioned," he said casually.

Stiles was first into the elevator. It didn't even dawn on him that maybe Isaac might have a problem until he saw him step carefully into the car and grip the railing until he was white-knuckled. It probably didn't help that three out of four of the walls were covered in mirrors.

"What floor?" Stiles asked finally as the doors were sliding closed. Isaac hands were shaking a little bit but the expression he directed at Stiles very obviously conveyed that they were not going to talk about it.

"Three," he drawled. Stiles leaned forward to press the button. He tried not to notice the way Isaac lurched slightly when the elevator started to rise, but it was difficult when every way he looked, he saw reflection upon reflection upon reflection of the two of them. He met Isaac's eyes in the mirror and Isaac ducked his head, flushing red.

The hallway on the third floor was empty except for Coach Finstock, who stopped his prowling to stare at the two of them as they made their way to their room. Isaac unlocked the door and went right in, but Stiles went in slowly, one eye on the Coach, who gave him the I'm-watching-you gesture, eyes slitted. Stiles shuddered and closed the door behind him.

The room was much larger than Stiles had been expecting. There were two televisions; one was surrounded by a handful of armchairs next to the window. There was a bar (stocked with candy they had been forbidden to touch) and a small cherry table with four wooden chairs. The carpet was a nasty green color and the walls were beige and textured. And there was a bed. _A_ bed. One.

Isaac was lounging across most of the leaf green bedspread, long limbs sprawled out every which way. He picked his head up when Stiles came to a stop in front of him and smirked.

"Only one bed." The way he said it made Stiles simultaneously irritated and uneasy.

"How the hell is there only one bed in a hotel this fancy?" Stiles ran a hand over the top of his head and glanced around, trying to figure out where the hell he was going to sleep. Isaac would probably fight him for the bed and, seriously, Stiles didn't even need to weigh the odds to know he would lose. Even if Isaac _wasn't_ a werewolf, Stiles would probably flail himself out the window by accident.

Isaac rolled his limbs back in and hopped up off the bed. "I'm gonna take a shower," he said.

"Nooooo, no, no, no," Stiles said. "I know you take long-ass showers, man. There was no hot water at Scott's house for like three months. At least let me go first."

Isaac kept walking and Stiles followed him a little bit desperately. Isaac would run all of the hot water out of the entire hotel. Stiles was pretty sure that taking the longest showers in the history of forever was his only non-wolfy superpower. He didn't even know what Isaac _did_ in there the whole time.

Isaac pushed open the bathroom door, flicked on the light, then immediately turned and gave Stiles one of his toothy, predatory smiles.

"You're in luck, Stilinski," he said. "Two showerheads."

Stiles' mind went into overdrive, trying to piece together _one bed_ and _two showerheads_.

"Oh, fuck," he said, voice loud against the tile. Isaac was already peeling himself out of his clothes. He threw his gray tee shirt down onto the toilet seat and got to work on his belt. Stiles tried not to look too much. "We're in the honeymoon suite."

Isaac pulled the belt out of the loops of his jeans and tilted his head back a bit to look down his nose at Stiles. "That doesn't make any sense. You have to request a honeymoon suite, dumbass." He shucked his shoes and socks quickly. When he went to drop his pants, his briefs went along slightly, and Stiles' heart jumped in that way it did when he saw too much skin.

"I'm not going to shower with you," he told Isaac, who was standing there in just his tiny little blue briefs. He was bulging slightly, but it was more of I'm-pretty-well-endowed than oh-Stiles-catch-me-I'm-going-to-swoon. Which is not something that Stiles would have wanted anyway. Probably.

"Suit yourself." Isaac stretched his arms up over his head and _hoooo_ly shit, then caught his thumbs on the inside of his underpants. "I can't promise there's going to be any hot water when I'm done."

Stiles looked away when Isaac pulled down his briefs and stepped into the shower. He blinked up at the corner of the room and tried to weigh the options. The showerheads were on opposite sides of the shower, which meant they would be facing _away _from each other. He would get a hot shower. He could be in and out of there in a minute flat and wouldn't have to get redressed in front of Isaac.

The pros seemed pretty damn appealing, so he said, "Don't you dare tell anyone," and undressed quickly and without finesse.

They kept their backs to each other, even when Isaac started humming. Stiles went about quickly and quietly washing himself and it wasn't until he had to reach behind him to get the conditioner that his eyes caught the smooth expanse of Isaac's back.

He couldn't do anything to stop his eyes from traveling down, down, and – shit, god, he's got a great ass. Stiles caught his tongue between his teeth and looked up to see Isaac half-looking over his shoulder. Stiles blushed and turned back around, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to cut his blush. Isaac snickered quietly from the other end of the stall.

Stiles finished showering and went back out into the room. He got dressed again, pulling on his sweatpants and his dad's old Dr. Pepper tee shirt. Then he sat on the bed, listening to Isaac's echoed humming, quiet beneath the sound of the water, and tried not to think of Isaac's naked body.

It's not like Stiles had never seen Isaac half-naked before – in fact, in the months that he's lived in Scott, Stiles had seen his chest almost as much as Stiles had seen Scott's chest before he'd become a werewolf. Even before he got all buff and muscley, he'd never really liked wearing a shirt.

But seeing Isaac strip down and hop right into the shower, then catching his gaze when he'd accidentally started checking him out – fuck. It brought up all of the feelings Stiles had never let himself think on. It was a crush, and a stupid one at that. They didn't even really get along.

But then again, Lydia hadn't said two words to him until the whole werewolf thing started, so maybe he had a thing for people who didn't particularly like him.

He forced himself to think of Coach Finstock's ball lost to exposure or sharing a room with Rusty because there was a problem started to stir down below and Isaac would definitely, _definitely_ know if Stiles touched himself right after seeing his naked ass in the shower. Not that Stiles would want to touch himself while he thought about Isaac anyway, even if his naked ass was maybe probably the reason Stiles was feeling a little bit hot under the collar in the first place.

He crawled up to the top of the bed and leaned against the headboard. The remote was on the side table next to him, so he picked it up and started flicking through the channels, trying to find something to lose himself in a little bit. Anything to make him stop thinking of Isaac and how much it wouldn't suck to kiss the smirk right off of Isaac's face.

He made himself focus on the King of Queens reruns until Isaac emerged from the bathroom some time later in a cloud of steam. He was rubbing his soggy hair with a towel and wearing a pair of blue pajama pants. Stiles tried not to stare at his bare chest.

"I'll move," he mumbled, but Isaac shook his head, sending water flying everywhere.

"No," he said. "I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to share a bed with another guy. Don't tell me you're gonna whimp out."

Stiles stared at him for a minute before sighing and dropping back down on to the bed. Isaac nodded at him and sat down on the opposite side to rub lotion into his arms. He was watching the tv out of the corner of his eye and Stiles was kind of watching him. He didn't even realize he was doing it until Isaac cast him a sidelong glance over his shoulder and smiled a little bit.

Stiles cleared his throat and flailed in the general direction of the lamp. The room was bathed suddenly in darkness, save for the flickering light of the television. Stiles crawled under the blankets and, after a moment, Isaac joined him.

Isaac was still awake, one hand resting on his stomach while he watched the tv, when Stiles fell asleep.

He woke with a start some time later to find Isaac almost uncomfortably close. He was about to grunt and shove him away when he realized that there were fingers brushing slow and steady against his wrist.

"Isaac?" he said quietly. The tv was still on but the sound was turned down so low that Stiles could barely hear it. He looked up and blinked sleepily into Isaac's face. The light from the tv made him look even paler than normal and he had this soft smile on his mouth that almost convinced Stiles he was dreaming.

"Shh," Isaac said, and leaned down to kiss his upper lip.

Stiles made a quiet noise and asked, "Am I dreaming?"

"Is this something you'd dream about?" Isaac kissed the corner of his mouth, so light that Stiles almost thought he'd missed it. Then he moved over to the other side, tilting Stiles' chin with two of his fingers to get a better angle.

"I don't know," Stiles said. He had to shift a little bit because there was something about Isaac being so tender that was really fucking hot. He felt his cheeks flame and Isaac must have too because he laughed softly and nudged his nose against his cheekbone. "Yeah."

"What else would happen in your dream?" Isaac whispered. He nuzzled his way to Stiles' right ear and bit lightly at his earlobe.

Stiles couldn't form any coherent thoughts with Isaac leaning over him, being all coy and sexy, so he said, "Nhhhgg."

Isaac leaned back over to trace the shell of his right ear with his tongue. Then he nudged a little bit closer and said, "Would I kiss you on the mouth?"

Stiles nodded vigorously and made an embarrassing noise against Isaac's mouth when they were finally, actually kissing. Stiles moved a hand up to the back of Isaac's neck and opened his mouth to his tongue. Isaac shifted, not breaking contact, to straddle him, and, oh fuck, that was hot. He was still flat on his back and Isaac was on his hands and knees and he hoped to god that Isaac didn't put any of his weight down because then he would feel the big dumb boner Stiles was getting just from kissing him. He wondered vaguely if he could play it off as morning wood, except for it wasn't morning and it was very much because of a curly-haired werewolf with a tongue and wonderful, gorgeous fingers.

Isaac's fingers played up against his bony hip, thumb pressing down on the jut of the bone, then went to slide his hand up Stiles' shirt. During that movement, he bumped Stiles' big dumb werewolf boner and broke away suddenly.

For the first time in months, Stiles was reminded suddenly that Isaac was a teenager, too. He stared down at Stiles with big, scared eyes and Stiles felt small and embarrassed. His cheeks flamed and he ducked his head.

"Sorry," he mumbled, avoiding Isaac's eyes.

"That's," Isaac said, voice shaking. "That's for me? Holy shit."

"No, dumbass," Stiles said. "It's for Kevin James over there. Of fucking course it's for you."

Isaac's jaw dropped almost imperceptibly and he leaned forward to kiss Stiles hard on the mouth.

"God," he said between feverish kisses. "God, that's so fucking hot."

Stiles tangled his fingers in Isaac's curls and tugged him closer. Isaac stumbled a little bit and gasped when his big stupid _fantastic_ actual werewolf boner brushed up against Stiles' thigh.

"Is that for me?" Stiles teased.

"No," Isaac replied, eyes lidded heavily. "It's for Scott." They kissed again but Stiles caught Isaac by the collar and tugged him up a bit.

"Not funny," he said. Isaac looked wrecked and so, so fucking hot. He needed to stop thinking that. "Everyone thought you two were boning."

Isaac fell over to the side and looked at him, hair mussed and lips swollen, head tilted in confusion. "What?"

Stiles took this chance to switch positions; he straddled Isaac's hips, careful not to put too much pressure on either of the big dumb mutual werewolf boners trapped between them. Isaac looked up at him and Stiles couldn't not kiss him.

"Seriously," Isaac said after a while, and Stiles moved his mouth to suck a mark that would surely fade on his jaw. "People thought Scott and I were together?"

Stiles backed off a little bit. "Yeah, man," he said. He was still out of breath a little bit from that awesome thing that he and Isaac had been doing a minute ago. He wanted to do that again. "I mean, you follow him around like a puppy. You _live_ together. You do your weird turned-on-grimace thing at him and he kind of makes it back so we all just assumed."

"No," Isaac said. He reached up and touched the skin of Stiles' temple. "I like – I've _always_ liked you, but I never thought I'd have a chance, so I – stopped, you know, stopped myself from feeling like that. Maybe I had a little bit of a crush on Scott in the beginning, but that stopped after I heard his night burping, and I might have liked Lydia and Allison and Cora, and maybe Peter's kind of hot – and Boyd, but definitely Erica, and Derek kind of scared me a little bit a lot but he's something to look at, and–"

"Is there a point to this?"

Isaac blushed. "Oh. Yeah. I've liked you the longest. You're – I like you. I've always liked you. The most."

"No wonder they say you can't keep it in your pants," Stiles said. "Who else? Danny?"

"Danny," Isaac said, his blush deepening. "Ethan, Aidan, uh, Jennifer, Scott's mom—"

"Okay." Stiles climbed off of him and sat cross legged on the other side of the bed. "So you want to bang all of Beacon Hills."

"No," he said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Just you."

"You want to bang me?"

"I didn't," Isaac started, and Stiles was almost afraid that his face was going to catch on fire from being so red. He felt a little bit bad for putting Isaac on the spot like that but _damn_. "Not that I don't _want_ to bang you, 'cause I do, but if that freaks you out, that's okay, you know, we don't have to do that."

"Stop rambling," Stiles said. Isaac shut his mouth with a click. "It's cool you wanna bang me. I've never had anyone want to bang me before."

"That's a lie." Isaac sat up and leaned against the headboard. Stiles noted sadly that the big dumb werewolf boners had gone away. "Erica wanted to bang you. I can't imagine we're the only two. Oh – Scott said something about the girl, uh, the first sacrifice from before. How you were going to have sex with her."

Stiles ducked his head a little bit. He hated thinking about Heather. "Come on."

"Are you still a virgin?"

"Isaac," Stiles sighed.

"Are you?"

He stared at Isaac for a moment before nodding. Isaac closed his eyes and grinned.

"God, that's hot."

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

"So what, you think you're hot, too? For not having sex?"

"No." Isaac played with the frayed string bracelets on his wrist. "I think it would be cool, though. If you'd let me be your first."

Aaaaand that shot straight down to Stiles' groin. He groaned and folded forward across his lap.

"Not right now," he said. "I don't want my first time to be overshadowed by us losing tomorrow's game."

"We made it to the championships," Isaac said. He sounded shy and Stiles scooted up to sit next to him. He pulled the blankets up over them and turned to listen to him. "We're not necessarily going to lose."

"We only made the championships because Dawn Heights had seven guys out. They got benched because they were all injured, then got disqualified because someone found out that the reason they were all injured was because they were practicing the moves they were going to pull on us on each other."

Isaac laughed a little bit and leaned against Stiles' shoulder. They sat in silence, both watching Isaac's fingers work against Stiles'.

"If we win tomorrow, I'm going to kiss you in front of everyone." Isaac whispered into his shirt.

"Don't bet on it." Stiles leaned against him. "Greenberg ate a hamburger for dinner and he always gets sick after he eats beef. He's probably going to ralph it up on the field in the first five minutes of the game and we're going to end up eating dirt."

"It'll be good after the game," Isaac said.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Isaac manhandled them down onto their backs again. "There's going to be lots of kissing."

"Hopefully just from you," Stiles said. "I don't want to see Scott making out with Danny. Or you making out with Danny, for that matter."

"Just you." Isaac snuggled into his side and, oh, they went from Isaac making rude comments about his style in clothes to holding hands underneath the blankets. That was fast. "I can't say you won't see Ethan and Danny getting it on, though."

"Eh," Stiles said. "They won't steal our thunder."

They watched the near-muted television through half open eyes until Isaac finally drifted off to sleep. Stiles leaned over him to press the off button on the remote, then went back to where Isaac was crowding into his space, snoring quietly, not unlike the dog Stiles had before his mom died.

He reached up to brush the hair out of Isaac's face and whispered, "We're going to go out when we get back home, and you're gonna buy me dinner."


End file.
